


Within Convenient Distance

by dancinbutterfly



Series: The Ecstasy [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Escape, Family Feels, Fisting, Flirting, Gender Issues, Heat Sex, Hockey, Jeffrey the dog, KHL, Lap Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega!Geno, Phone Calls & Telephones, Romantic Gestures, Strong Geno, Verbal threats from the KHL, crying sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zhenya's second off-season is better than his first. Much better. He won't know how much until the very end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Go and Catch a Falling Star

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is you guys. The Finland escapade. If you don't know, oh boy are you in for a treat. If you do, well, your patience has paid off :D Enjoy.
> 
> All story titles from John Donne's The Ecstasy. Chapter titles are also John Donne (Song and Sweetest Love I Do Not Go respectively - have I convinced you to read his poetry yet).

David tells him he’s not coming back the night they’re bumped out of the play-offs. It’s a gross, ugly understatement to say that Zhenya is devastated. The man is his only ally for Christ’s sake.

“How I play without you?”

“You play like a god, Zhenya. It’s not your game you’re worried about.”

And okay. That’s true. He is better than any of his teammates which is another reason why they hate him. He out classes them all. Only Sasha would be fair competition if he were here.

“You’re worried about this,” he waves a hand between their chests. David clearly can’t express it in Russian.

Zhenya nods. He doesn’t have the English for it either. That’s okay. He understands. He nods his head violently.

He pats Zhenya’s shoulder. “I’ve been working with Anya on my contract. We talked about you. Just sit tight.” 

“Sit tight?” Zhenya repeats. He sucks at idioms and English is full of them. David uses them all the time.

“Um, don’t do anything.”

Zhenya actually growls, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest like a small earthquake. David blinks at him. Omegas, as a rule, do not growl. They purr, trill, whimper, but usually only mother omegas growl and only when their babies are threatened. Needless to say, its a sign of how angry he is.

“No sit tight. Do something. No off season again.”

David drags a hand through his hair. “I’m not in control of the off season situation.”

“Not do again. Bad, David. Very bad.” He hopes his eyes convey enough of the horror of last summer because he just doesn’t have the words in a second language to make it clear how bad it was. 

The third heat of the off season had lasted five days. He had been conscious for all of it, unable to sleep at all. Halfway through day three he had been in broken tears.

“Metiya,” he’d sobbed, “Metiya please. I need. I need. I need it. Fuck me please. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts, little bird,” Dima had soothed, kissing his skin everywhere he could reach. He ground four fingers deep inside, squelching through Zhenya’s slick as he waited to get hard again. It helped about as much as putting antibiotic cream on a gunshot wound. “I’m trying. It’ll be okay.”

“It won’t. It’s going to kill me, Metiya,” he choked out, so afraid. “I don’t want to die.” 

At the time he’d really believed it. His body felt like it was cooking, burning from the inside out in white hot agony. His thoughts were incoherent as the heat fever pushed him into delirium. 

Then Dima had eased his whole fist into Zhenya’s gaping hole and he’d screamed in relief. It didn’t stop the fever but for a few blessed minutes, he didn’t feel like he was dying. He could cling to his alpha, smell his soothing scent and squeeze around the hand that mimicked a knot. His internal muscles rippled around Dima’s fingers and in return Dima flexed his wrist and knuckles. Zhenya let out a feral cry and Dima let out a laugh that was wrapped in a sob of his own. 

He had kissed tears off Zhenya’s face as best he could. “It’s okay, little bird. My omega, I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“I can’t.” 

“You can. It’ll be okay.” He soothed. It was the first time he didn’t believe Dima. He had come so hard it hurt but didn’t lock around the false knot. He just sobbed and hand began rocking against Dima’s fist again.

It went on like that for two more days and when the heat finally broke, they had curled into each other, crying like children until they fell asleep for twenty solid hours. They ate everything in the kitchen when they woke, used the bathroom and showered and slept for another day. Zhenya had cried in his sleep. It had been the first time he truly hated being any omega.

“Not doing again.” Zhenya says to David. “Die first.”

“I don’t have a say on that but I’ll support you. Just, walk out. Get in your car and drive home. If they try and take you, I’ll call the police or you do it. Have 999 on your phone ready to call. It’s kidnapping.”

Zhenya doesn’t carry his gear out. He just walks with his hockey stick, ready to bash anyone he needs to in the face. He gets a look from a few members of Security but no one stops him. He breaks the speed limit as he hurries home but this time he makes it. Jeffrey jumps up to greet him and he laughs like a mad man in his triumph. 

His parents and Denis get in not long after him. They got stuck in stadium traffic. Zhenya locks the door behind them and calls a family meeting. 

“We’re on lock down,” he says.

Denis folds his arms over his chest and lifts an eyebrow. “What movie do you think we’re in?”

“Denis,” Vladimir snaps and both his sons duck their head. “We all know what the team did last summer. Try and be serious please?”

“Don’t open the door for anyone you don’t know okay?” Zhenya says. “I guess its not a lock down.”

“It’s enough of one,” Natalia agrees. “Do we agree? No strange calls. No strange visitors.”

“Does Dima count as strange?” Denis teases. “He’s a weirdo.”

“Shut up Denis.”

He holds up his phone. “I’m just saying, he texted me while you were on the ice. He’s on his way.”

Zhenya’s jaw drops a little before he wrangles his mouth muscles back under control. “From St Petersburg?” He wasn’t due until after the finals.

Denis looks at it his phone. “This one asks who’s up in the third and this says ‘boarding now. will text when I can.’ I don’t know if he meant me or you though. But its a six hour flight then half an hour from the airport so you’ve got awhile to pretty up.” He winks at Zhenya. “Mama can lend you heels or something.”

“I’m an omega not a woman,” Zhenya snaps. “Besides I don’t have the legs for them.” Vladimir snorts and Zhenya relaxes a little.

They hunker down like the cold war’s rebooted. It’s the strangest thing. No one comes. There’s no knock on his door. Jeffrey doesn’t even pace. Zhenya doesn’t know why this year is different until his mobile phone rings.

Its a local number with a prefix from the stadium. He doesn’t recognize it completely but its the other shoe finally dropping. Especially when the voice on the other end of the line says his name, his full name. It’s not just anyone from management. It’s the owner. 

He takes the stairs to his bedroom three at a time with Jeffrey at his heels. He doesn’t need his parents or brother listening in on this.

“Do you know why I’m calling you, Mr. Malkin?”

Zhenya flops down on bed. He stares at the ceiling as Jeffrey follows him up onto the mattress. “I can guess.”

“I’ve been informed by those around you that you know what the expectations you face are.”

Zhenya lets out a slow breath. “I’ve read my updated contract.”

“Then I decided, and many members of the head office agreed with me, that the extreme measures of last year aren’t necessary to insure your cooperation, discretion on fulfillment of obligations.” His voice drops a full octave. “Am I wrong Mr. Malkin?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t see any reason why we can’t relax our standards a little. After all, your family is in the city. You’re only eighteen, still a boy. A boy should be with his family.” 

Zhenya is not good at playing games.“Does this mean I’m on city-arrest instead of house-arrest this year?”

The owner chuckles. It’s nails on glass for Zhenya. “I wouldn’t say that but now that you draw it out in such lines, yes. That will do. You’re welcome to the full benefits of our beautiful city this summer. Our head trainer is staying as well so you can work with him as well.”

“And the team doctors?”

“That’s at your discretion,” the owner says, as if that were the truth. “But if you don’t contact Dr. Uralsky by the 27th, we’ll be forced to contact you and reconsider current contractual arrangements. Do you understand me young man?”

Zhenya hates that his yes comes out as a whisper. He didn’t want to be pathetic. He should sound strong. He should _be_ strong.

“Excellent. Then I look forward to seeing you again next season.” And hangs up. No goodbye as though Zhenya wasn’t worth the care or effort.

He texts his mom that lockdown is over then drops his mobile on his pillow. He turns to look at Jeffrey. Jeffrey who his happy doggy whine and thumps his huge tail. He shuffles up the bed and nestles his nose pressed into Zhenya’s ear.

“Have you met Dima?” Zhenya asks Jeffrey. Jeffrey huffs. Thats a no. Zhenya scratches his head. “You’ll like him. He may kick you out of bed though.”

Jeffrey huffs again and wriggles against him. Zhenya turns on his side and drapes an arm across his dog and aches everywhere. 

He played a good game. He played hard and smart and fast and fair. He played with fucking talent goddamnit and this is where he is, shaking off fear and anxiety from a long night. 

He grabs the remote off his nightstand, turns on the tv. He flips it to the American stream of MTV he gets through his premium satellite package. He doesn’t have the energy to sit up and look up NHL games on youtube right now. It’s reality tv show bullshit but it is mind numbing enough that he can drift in a cuddle fog with Jeffrey until his phone rings. 

He looks at the clock flashing above Dima’s name on the phone. It’s almost two in the morning, Christ. “Metiya?”

“Hey little bird. Sorry you’re out of the playoffs.”

“How did you know?”

“Your brother.”

Which is total bullshit. Denis brand of big brother antics are brutish. He doesn’t have a nuanced bone in his body. Dima, on the other hand, keeps proving himself to be one sneaky fucker. “Oh really.”

“Yep. I texted him.”

Zhenya’s lips twitch. He’s not lying. Of course he’s not, Denis already told him. Besides, Dima never lies to him. Doesn’t mean Dima doesn’t like to fuck around with him if one or both of them are bored.

“Denis can’t have known anything far enough in advance for you to have been boarding before the buzzer sounded.” Zhenya teases.

Dima is quiet on the line. Too quiet.

“What?”

“I may have booked a flight for every clutch game night so far only to cancel last minute. I more checked the score with Denis than anything.”

“Dima, are you fucking ser-“

“There’s a lot of money in finance, Zhenya.” Dima teases. “Like…a whole lot of money.”

Zhenya smiles into Jeffrey’s fur. “At least no one will think you’re after me for my wealth.”

“No. We all know I just want you for a stay-at-home trophy husband. ”

Zhenya snorts. “How far away are you?”

“One taxi ride. I’m already in the back seat.” Dima sighs. “This city is an eyesore, I swear. I've seen more attractive nuclear waste sites.”

“It’s two in the morning. The city is nothing but lights.”

“Lights and refinery dust. You’re too good for this place.”

“This place is home. You’re just a Western city snob.”

“I can’t deny that,” Dima cedes. “One day I’ll show you around my city, Zhenya. Christmas maybe. St. Petersburg is beautiful in the snow.”

“It’s too hot to think about snow,” Zhenya moans. He knows he’s being a drama queen. Hell he spent all night on ice. His house has excellent air conditioning and its only 20 degrees. It’s practically hoodie weather.

“You know what else is hot?” Dima asks, the teasing note back in his voice.

“You’re in a cab. Don’t be a perv.”

“When else should I be?” Dima chuckles. “I’ve been on two planes for eight hours.”

“Eight?”

“Ugh, yes. There was a delay on the runway.”

“I’m guessing you kept busy.”

“Now who’s being a perv?”

Zhenya kicks off the shoes he hadn’t realized he was wearing. He toes off his socks too. He flexes his feet and asks, “How far now?” 

“Ten minutes.”

Zhenya can’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “Yeah?”

“I guess. I’ve never been to your house before. I can’t time the commute.”

“So maybe less.”

“Yes,” Dima agrees. Silence stretches out between them for a few moments. It could have been seconds or five minutes. Zhenya’s not sure but when Dima speaks again, just to say his name, he’s already starting to get hard and he’s fidgeting where he can feel himself beginning to leak.

“I’m close, Zhenya.” Dima whispers. It’s a filthy tease. It has Zhenya up off the bed and padding across the room to the door. Jeffrey is on his heels as he opens the door and heads downstairs. His family is sleeping and the taxi is pulling up the driveway just as he hauls open the front door.

He’s too big to literally jump on Dima. He’d knock the man over. He’s not too big to pin him to the side of the taxi and kiss him stupid, hands in his hair, tongue in his mouth. He tastes like plain biscuits, Coke, and Dima. Zhenya moans into his mouth and Dima’s arms wrap around his neck until the taxi driver clears her throat.

“Right. Here.” Zhenya laughs as Dima fishes out his wallet and practically throws her a wad of bills. “Keep the change.”

“Night gentlemen,” she calls. Zhenya is more aware of his support falling away from behind Dima than her actually leaving.

“You could fuck me in the pool,” Zhenya says. “Or in my bed. Or right here on the fucking cement, Mary Mother of God, Metiya, you feel so good.”

“You smell like sex. God, did you get ready for me?”

“No.”

“That’s just you?” Dima takes his face in both hands and kisses him. “And the sweat from the game. That’s good too.”

“I showered.”

“It’s still on you. I like it.” He pulls the collar of Zhenya’s t-shirt aside so he can lick a continuous stripe from clavicle to ear. His teeth nip the lobe, alpha sharp. Zhenya feels his knees turn to jam. It’s been too long.

Jeffrey barks happily as if in agreement. He jumps up on Dima’s leg derailing any plans to fuck on the driveway. Dima laughs and breaks away to greet the dog and follow Zhenya inside.

They end up in Zhenya’s bed on top of the comforter. Their shirts are still on, though Dima’s is ripped where Zhenya tore it at the collar with both his teeth and hands at the same time and his own is hiked up around his armpits. Dima sitting with his back against the headboard, Zhenya in his lap His thighs are still sore from the game but the extra burn is worth it to rock himself up on Dima’s cock then grind down onto his knot. Dima’s fist is wrapped tight around his shaft and Zhenya’s cock is drooling precum between them with every movement.

They’re too frantic even for the usually dirty talk. Their foreheads are pressed against each other, noses mashed tight together. They can’t even manage to kiss, just breathing gasping pants into each other’s mouths as they race together towards orgasm. 

Zhenya comes first, ruining Dima’s tailored shirt with white stripes of come. His body locks around Dima’s knot as he spasms. He bites at Dima’s mouth, trying to keep himself quiet as pleasure devastates him. Dima’s arms wrap tight around him, fingernails digging into his back as he comes in response. Zhenya can’t hold back a strangled moan at the feel of hot come filling him up the way his body ached for and finally allowing him to really relax. 

He slumps on Dima’s shoulder, still shaking, still knotted, sticky and wet, and sighs. Dima sighs too then laughs. “We’re so gross.”

“Feels good,” Zhenya says into his shirt, probably Italian and silk and formerly perfect for business meetings. “Stay.”

“But. You have an en suite shower,” he whines, sounding five instead of thirty-five.

“Stay.”

Dima sighs into his hair. “Oh all right.” 

Only instead of staying still, he tugs off their shirts and does a minimal job of wiping them both clean. He throws both shirts on the floor the shifts, so they’re still lying down. Zhenya has to shove his hand against his mouth as they move because it grinds Dima’s knot against his prostate making him tingle everywhere. He’d be hard again if he weren’t so worn out.

“Hate you,” he groans, biting the meat of Dima’s shoulder as his ass clenches involuntarily around his knot. It makes the knot expand just a little more and sends another thin, hot jet of come into Zhenya. He doesn’t stop biting until his shudders ease.

“You don’t,” Dima chuckles, shivering himself. He waves a hand at how they are now stretched out horizontal, though still tangled together face to face. “Now we can sleep without unknotting. See, I told you I’d stay.”

“Oh. Right.” He smiles a little. “Good. That’s good.”

“Yes,” Dima agrees. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder? This was set before Russia lost it's fucking mind and started actively attacking gay men. It wasn't friendly to them but it wasn't like it is now. Also, even if it weren't, Dima and Zhenya are in a perfectly socially acceptable relationship as no one cares what sex people are so long as it's a fertile relationship. Non-fertile relationships are "gay/queer." So, anything they do in public wouldn't get a blink unless the person watching them was scent-blind.


	2. Sweetest Love I Do Not Go For Weariness of Thee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning in end notes - resist if you can!

The off season of his second year in the Super League is more than livable. 

The head trainer is an omega woman because there are no rules about the staff’s dynamics or gender in the KHL the way there are for players. She’s built like the Berlin Wall, has a voice like a tuba, works him like a draft horse six days a week, and instills in Zhenya a sort of vague terror. He adores her. 

He eats his mother’s cooking and he sleeps in his own bed. He swims in his pool, plays with his dog, goes to a million and one movies and every two weeks his boyfriend flies in so they can fuck like rabbits and tool around the city like tourists. He’s in the best shape of his life. Granted he’s only eighteen but still. If he ignores the forced heats, he feels amazing.

Denial is a skill he lacks, unfortunately. So he finds himself on youtube too often watching clips of Penguins games. Sidney Crosby is flying and Zhenya knows he should be beside him. It makes him morose and when he’s down he bitches.

He’s complaining again as he and Dima are stretched out together in Zhenya’s bed. This isn’t a heat week, just a bimonthly visit and they’re just taking advantage of each other’s presence. 

“So do something,” Dima says for the millionth time. “Zhenya, just leave.” He bites down on Zhenya’s shoulder for emphasis. 

Zhenya pushes him off. “They have my passport,” he says for his own millionth time. “And no, your sketchy mob friend is not making me a fake.”

“He’s not sketchy,” Dima protests. He props himself up on one elbow, frowning. “He’s very respectable.”

“He’s still a mobster.”

Dima shrugs. “I can neither confirm nor deny his affiliations.”

“Oh my god, how do you know these people.”

“He was a friend of Misha’s I got to keep in the breakup.” He sighs. “When they cheat you get to keep most of the friends.”

“Mobster friends.”

“All kinds of friends. Let it go and I’l blow you right now.”

Zhenya’s not that horny so he grins and charges on. “No, I want to hear more about the mobster. How far down do the Bratva tattoos go? Have you seen them?” Okay maybe he’s a little horny because an idea occurs to him thats a little sexy. “Have you licked them?”

“Zhenya!” Dima’s scandalized look is so worth it.

“What? He could be that kind of friend.”

“He has a mate.”

Zhenya laughs and pushes Dima onto his back. He drapes himself over is narrow alpha form. “That’s what stopped you?”

“Maybe.” Dima is grinning all lopsided and sloppy like Zhenya loves. “Or definitely.”

“I knew it.” 

Zhenya feels Dima shrug under him. “He looks exceptional with his shirt off. No stars though.”

“Lame.”

“I’m serious though. Do something,” Dima protests because Dima is always more angry about Metallurg’s treatment of him than he is. Zhenya doesn’t get as angry as Dima by nature. “It’s just fucking wrong. We don’t have to stand it. I have a friend who owns a PR firm. You can go public about the abuse they’ve inflicted on you and we’ll fix the contract later.”

“I can’t. NDA remember?”

“Yes. You can.” He reaches up and brushes Zhenya’s bangs off his forehead. “Some of my best friends are kickass lawyers.”

“Again with you and your friends. I’m not breaking the law to get out of the country or my contract and if I go public I’ll have to leave the league.”

“Something is going to give,” Dima declares. He puts an “I am older than you my wisdom is not to be questioned” tone on when he says it and Zhenya rolls his eyes. Then he kisses him because Dima is a ridiculous man who needs to be kissed.

He’s not wrong though. Something does give in the form of an email that says that training camp this year is going to be in Helsinki. As in Finland. As in not Russia. 

He may lock himself in his room with the small flask emergency vodka he keeps in hidden in the kitchen freezer behind the old sherbert only his mama knows about and spends the whole day on Google. Finland is seriously liberal and Omegaist in its policies compared to Russia, compared to most of Europe actually. During the Soviet era, more than one unhappy Omega comrade got out from behind the Iron Curtain through Finland. He doesn’t see why he should be different.

After all, management has to give him back his passport to get to Helsinki. He can just not give it back to them. 

He calls his agent before he talks to his family. His agent wants him out of the KHL almost as much as he does and he mentions the fact that Helsinki has a US Embassy. “You have work pending in the US,” he says. “Getting you a visa should be no problem.”

It sounds too good to be true. It feels too good to be true. Except for the fact that when he goes, he won’t be coming back. He doesn’t know for how long. It hits him a week after the email comes when Jeffrey hops onto the couch next to him and puts his head in Zhenya’s lap.

He’ll be going to Helsinki ostensibly for training camp. That means he’ll be bringing his gear and clothes and maybe a few pictures and that’s it. He can’t bring Jeffrey. He can’t bring his parents. He can’t come back to Russia with the KHL contract violated. He’ll have what he packs and nothing else.

He tells his mother because she finds him throwing up in the downstairs bathroom. She cries and holds him and tells him to go, that he has to, that if he stays hiding will break him and the forced heats in the off season could literally kill him. He already knows this but in her arms, hearing it from her mouth, it helps him to believe it.

He tells Dima when he comes into town for his last heat of the summer. The sweat is cooling on their bodies as they lie on top of the duvet and Zhenya tells him about Finland, about the visa and a plane ticket to Pittsburgh he hasn’t purchased yet.

“How are you going to get away from training camp?” Dima asks. He’s tracing patterns on Zhenya’s bicep with a fingernail. It feels nice.

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” Zhenya admits.

“Let me help,” Dima pleads. “I have friends in Helsinki.”

“You have friends everywhere.”

Dima shrugs. “I’m personable.”

“You’re something, all right,” Zhenya teases.

Dima doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smile like he normally would. “I’m serious. Let me help you. God, this is all I’ve ever wanted for you, Zhenya. Please let me do this.” He pets his hair and Zhenya realize that Dima really is begging. 

Turning him down as an option occurs to Zhenya but he rejects it outright. Dima is someone he can count on and now is not a time to stop. No one has been more vocal, longer, about him leaving the KHL than Dima and he thinks maybe it would be cruel to keep him from helping with this. So he nods and watches Dima sag in relief. He thinks he can actually see wrinkles disappear from around Dima’s eyes.

“Fantastic. I have ideas, Zhenya. I may have been thinking about this for awhile.” He smiles his big uneven smile again and it hits him like a fist how much Dima really cares for him - not wants him, not cares about him, but cares _for_ him in the sense that he wants Zhenya happy and well - no matter what that means. That's rare. He knows that's rare, even though Dima is the first, the only, person he's ever been with. It makes him feel treasured and soft before the softens sparks and ignites the fire between them that never seems to go out. Zhenya can feel his blood start to burn in his veins. This heat is pill induced so its not as violent as the injection induced ones. It’s not natural but he can breathe through it. He can’t help the mess he’s going to make leaking all over his duvet at the smell of his alpha right this moment though.

“Tell me later,” he says. “Fuck me now.”

“Jesus Christ, Zhenya, I love you. You're so amazing, strong, brave. Then you turn around and you’re such a hot slut for my cock I can’t even believe it sometimes,” Dima purrs rolling onto his back so that Zhenya can ride him.

Zhenya feels like a god as he sinks onto Dima’s cock. He’s so wet and it slides in so easy, so perfect, and Dima’s throat arches so beautifully. He doesn’t even care why they’re here. He just wants this moment to go on forever. It doesn’t but during his orgasm, it feels like it can.

Training camp is on top of him in what feels like an instant. He’s packing all his favorite clothes in a suitcase and wondering how he got from his heat to here. Wasn’t it moments ago? His mother is hugging him six times a day and his father keeps clasping his arm or shoulder, saying he's proud of him and that he loves him more than he ever did in Zhenya's childhood, so it can’t be.

When departure day arrives, he drives himself to the private airport. It’s a last goodbye to his car.

Of course no one notices that he’s a little melancholy. He looks out the window of the Metallurg plane and watches his country disappear beneath the clouds and wonders if he’ll ever be back. He doesn’t let any tears escape at the thought but its a close thing.

They’re based at the university in the center of the city and they’re staying in the dormitories. It’s the university experience Zhenya never had. His roommate is a beta rookie who looks up to him and hasn’t heard the trash talk yet. More importantly, he’s too intimidated by his point record and his score streaks to ask questions.

“Come out with us,” he asks on the third night. “We’re going out.”

“I need my rest. Have fun.” He waves the boy, boy who really isn’t that much younger than he is, out. He waits twenty minutes then grabs his duffle and slips out into the cool night air.

He walks off campus then another five blocks before he hails a taxi. The first taxi. He switches taxis three times before he finally arrives at the unassuming apartment complex. He hits the buzzer for 4C, holds his breath, and prays. When the lock clicks and the door buzzes open, Zhenya exhales what feels like two years worth of fear.

It’s a walk up but the door to 4C is standing open for him and Dima is waiting in the doorway. He takes Zhenya’s bag, pulls him into the apartment and locks the door shut. He backs Zhenya into the now-locked door and kisses into his mouth grinning almost giddy.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says when he pulls back for air, planting kisses all over Zhenya’s face - his cheeks and chin and forehead and eyelids and nose before touching his lips. “How do you feel?”

“Terrified,” Zhenya admits. Dima smiles against his skin.

“About right then. This is going to work. They’re not the police. They have no jurisdiction in Finland even if they were. Anything legal they try would take at least weeks, if not months, to get through. You'll be long gone by then. This is going to be okay.” He presses his nose against Zhenya’s jaw. “You just need to lay low for a few days and then we’ll hit the embassy and get you to Pittsburgh.”

“That easy?”

“Give or take.”

“It feels like there should be a catch,” Zhenya admits.

“The catch is we have to get you to the embassy without you being seen and get you on a plane to Pittsburgh with a passport that is technically invalid.”

Ah. Yes. That. When he went to Pittsburgh he’d have to fix his beta designation. Maybe. Probably. Damnit.

“Right now we’re waiting for a call from my friend at the state department. So we just sit tight.” Dima sits on the couch as if to prove his point. It’s an austere IKEA number that doesn’t look particularly inviting.

“You would have a friend at the US state department.”

“How does that country song go? I got friends in low places.”

“There’s a song that says that?”

Dima smiles. It's a narrow, amused thing that cracks his face into little valleys. “You should listen to lots of music when you get there.”

“I know plenty of American music.”

“You’ll learn more when it’s at your fingertips.” Dima says sprawling on the couch. He holds out his arms and makes grabby hands. “Be with me.”

Zhenya can’t say no to that and settles himself beside Dima. They ease into around of lazy kisses that morphs into languid fucking. It’s quiet, Dima frames his face with his hands as he rocks his hips slow and steady and Zhenya feels like his breath is catching on the bones of his rib cage. 

Something is different. They’re quiet a way they’ve never been before. Sounds of their bodies moving together fill the space where words usually crowd in.

The next three days are much the same. They watch the Moomins on Finnish TV and fuck with a kind of care that neither of them seems to want to discuss and they wait. 

When Dima’s phone rings it all seems to happen very fast. The embassy actually sends a car - because apparently someone on the Penguins management knows someone at the state department too - and they’re shuttled to the embassy. It’s a mountain of paperwork but Zhenya walks out with a twelve-month United States work visa and a plane ticket to Pittsburgh that leaves in thirty-six hours.

When they get back to the apartment, Zhenya throws himself across the couch. Dima, though, stays by the door. He looks nervous. Nervous and sad. 

“Zhenya, we need to talk.”

Zhenya watches TV. There are too many empty hours in hotels on road trips not to. He knows that “we need to talk” never ever means anything good. He braces himself. “Okay?”

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore, after you leave.” Dima’s hands are clenched in fists at his side. “I think you should go to the airport on your own.”

No body blow, check into the boards, or on-ice punch has ever hit him this hard. He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking _breathe_. 

He scrambles for something to say but all that comes out is a feeble, “You love me.”

“Yes,” Dima whispers. His eyes are even brighter than normal for the way they shine. “I do.”

“Then what are you doing? You love me. You can’t just end this if you love me.”

“Love isn’t everything. There’s other things to-“

“Are you fucking high or something?” Zhenya shouts. “What else is there?”

“You’re moving literally around the world for one thing.” Dima says ticking it off on his fingers. “You’re starting a brand new life for another. You don’t need the strings of your old life tripping you up.”

“We’re already long-distance. I don’t understand.”

“There’s a difference between a six hour flight in the same country and half-way around the world. Please,” he begs, blue eyes like an unquiet sea. “Please don’t make this harder.”

“It’s not my job to make you breaking up with me easier. You don’t get to just decide its over. You’re not the only person in this relationship, Metiya.”

“No but it's not a relationship if both people don’t agree to it.” He drags his hand over his face and suddenly looks about twenty years older than he is. “And I don’t anymore.”

“This is bullshit. You’re bullshit. Dima, we’re on our way to something. I mean aren’t we?” He feels pathetic. “I thought- I mean- I could see us as mates, maybe. And I don’t know, after I was established, maybe won a Stanley cup or two, I guess I assumed we would have kids.” It’s true but he never really realized it until its pouring out of his mouth. No wonder he feels like his world’s ending and he cannot shut the fuck up. “You’re my alpha.”

There’s a wet sheen to Dima’s eyes and he shakes his head, blinks, and then tears are rolling down his cheeks, fat and slow. “We never talked about that.”

“Maybe we should. Maybe we should talk now.”

“Zhenya, you’re nineteen. You don’t know what the hell you want.”

Dima might as well have slapped him. He’s never once used his age against him. Zhenya’s always been his peer, his equal, and to be belittled by Dima of all people is unbearable. 

Zhenya points his finger at Dima’s chest. “That’s crap and you know it. I don’t want this.”

“I don’t either,” Dima admits, voice cracking. “But I’d never forgive myself if I held you back, little bird. Never.” He scrubs his hand across his cheek, wiping at the steady stream of tears. “You deserve a fresh start without some old man slowing you down. Please, trust that I know what I’m talking about just this once. Let me let you go.”

“You can’t do this. You’re not just- You’re my best goddamn friend Dima.”

“So email me sometime,” he says with a shaky smile. “Tell me about your fabulous NHL life. Tell me about America and your new friends. I’ll always be here for you.” 

“You just won’t be mine.”

“Zhenya.”

“I cannot fucking believe you have such little goddamn faith in me that you think I wouldn’t be able to do this. That you think I wouldn’t be able to love you and be in the NHL at the same time.”

Dima’s laugh is a jagged sob too. “I know you can. You would. That’s why I’m doing this. I don’t want you to have to. Have your rookie year, Zhenya. Do it right. You deserve to have what every other player has, not another forced circumstance because you're an Omega or because you're waiting for some Alpha in the old country.”

Shit. Now he's crying too. “But I want to. Metiya." He chokes on the pet name. "Metiya, I want to.”

“You want hockey. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

And goddamnit. He’s not wrong. Zhenya has been dreaming of his first year in the NHL since he was old enough to stop seeing being a dinosaur rockstar cosmonaut as a serious option.

“I want to have both.”

“You can't. Not right now and I’m not going to make you choose.” Dima smiles but its a sad ugly thing. “I wouldn’t win.”

“No,” Zhenya whispers, hating himself and Dima and the KHL and the NHL and God and everyone for this. “You wouldn’t.”

“And I’ve known that since the day I met you. I love that about you. This is okay. We’ll be okay.”

“How?”

“Because a break up isn’t the end of the world,” Dima grits out. He sounds a little like he’s trying to convince himself. “I promise it’s not.”

“Tell me you at least thought about it, being my mate,” Zhenya presses. He needs to know. He needs to know if Dima is throwing away what could have been a life or if this was was nothing to him, these past months - when it was _everything_ to Zhenya. “You have haven’t you?”

Dima shakes his head. “Don’t do this.”

“That's not an answer”

Dima closes his eyes like he's expecting a physical blow. He bites his lip and another tear slides out from under his lashes. "Zhenya, I haven't ever loved anyone the way I love you. Not in my whole life."

“I’m taking that as a yes. You do. You want to.”

He doesn't get any kind of confirmation to that but the slump in Dima's shoulders is answer enough. He did. Oh fuck, he did. He saw it too, a home and family and life and getting old together and yes, Zhenya is nineteen but he's not so ignorant that he doesn't look ahead. He wants his future to include love like this.

“I'm sorry," Dima whispers.

“Don't be sorry. Stop.” 

“Maybe things will change and we'll find each other again. Okay? Thats all I can give you. That’s not enough to base your life on.”

“I can’t believe you’d be so arrogant as to make this decision for me.”

“Its a decision for me too. Zhenya, I have to make this choice for myself, too.”

“But we love each other.” Zhenya says again but this time it comes out defeated.

“Yeah. That just isn’t always enough, little bird.”

“Can I?” He holds out a hand and Dima nods. Zhenya doesn’t know how he gets from where he’s standing to wrapped in his long arms. He soaks in the embrace and then lets go. 

He exhales then untangles himself. He doesn’t step back, just touches the skin next to Dima’s left eye, tracing the wrinkles. “I think you should leave.” 

Dima nods. “Okay. I can go.”

“Just-“ Fuck. Fuck this is awful. He kisses Dima like all the air in the world lives in his lungs, hand pressed to his face then steps back. His mouth tastes more like tears than Dima’s taste and he hates it but at least Dima looks as wrecked as he feels. “Just go.”

“Okay.” 

For some reason, Zhenya isn’t expecting him to actually do it - leave. But he does. He walks out the door and leaves Zhenya alone in the apartment with his duffle bag and his plane ticket and his future, yawning out before him vast and utterly unknowable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a break up in this chapter guys. Brace yourself.


End file.
